THE WIZARD WITH YELLOW EYEBALLS AND GREEN HAIR

So finished Sarvik with back like an oak, and lolling red tongue, his Wonder Stories.

And the Four Ancient Wizards of the South Baltic Lands, ground their teeth, whistled, howled, and were still.

Beat! Beat! Beat! And as the Great Nischergurgje struck his Drum with his golden drum-hammer, a gray light fell through the smoke-hole in the top of the tent. The fire died down and its gray, gray smoke curled upward, out of the smoke hole, and mixed with the gray light.

And the Lapp people looked up, and cried:

"Ah-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a!"

And their faces looked gray and weird in the strange light, and their eyes looked queer and gray through the smoke.

Weeks had passed while the Magic Stories were being told, and the Lapp people did not know it!

"Lo! the gray dawn comes!" shouted Nischergurgje as he struck his Magic Drum. "The Sun is not dead! He has turned his course. He is coming back. The Long Night, so sad and gloomy, will soon be ended. See! The pack reindeer are butting their horns into the birch thickets and the willow bushes; it bodes the coming of spring. See! The young fawns are lying on their sides, their legs as straight as arrows; it bodes the coming of flowers.

"Now, let the feast be served and tales told, while we wait for the golden sun to show his face above the rim of the world."